


Haunted

by helsinkibaby



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-14
Updated: 2007-08-14
Packaged: 2018-10-24 17:53:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10746822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: For the rt_challenge August ficathon, prompt 12, choose your own lyric.  I’ve put the lyric in at the end, because it also happens to be the last line of the story.





	Haunted

**Author's Note:**

> For the rt_challenge August ficathon, prompt 12, choose your own lyric. I’ve put the lyric in at the end, because it also happens to be the last line of the story.

Clouds lazily drift across the starlit sky as a light breeze stirs the leaves on the ground. Somewhere in the clearing, there is a whimper, and Remus’s head turns slowly to see Greyback leaning down, whispering something into someone’s ear. He can’t see who it is from here, certainly can’t hear it, nor does he want to. The scene alone is enough to make his stomach churn with disgust, and for an instant, he considers standing, confronting Greyback, raising the rest of the pack against him…

Instead, he watches as Greyback kicks the man in the stomach, his own contracting in empathy.

Then he turns around, pulls his cloak tighter around him as he stares into the fire.

The flames crackle and dance in the cold night air, a magnificent warming combination of yellow and orange and gold, and against his will, he remembers the fireplace in the study of 12 Grimmauld Place, remembers evenings spent with books and Butterbeer, plans and plotting, reminiscing with Sirius…

And Tonks.

Always, always, his thoughts lead him back to her.

Impatiently, he pushes them aside, but the harder he tries, the less success he has, and he finds it faintly amusing that thoughts of her seem to be as stubborn as the lady herself. How many times had he tried to put distance between them? How many times had he deflected her obvious attempts at flirting with him? Of course, at first, he hadn’t realised what she was doing, it had taken Sirius to point out the truth to him, and once he’d stopped thinking that house arrest had finally driven his friend around the bend, he’d done everything in his power to discourage her interest.

Well… perhaps not everything.

It would have been easy had he not felt anything for Tonks. Easy to push her away, to hold her at arm’s length. Unfortunately, the opposite was true, had been from the moment he met her, from the first time she’d looked at him with that grin, dark eyes twinkling, and said, “Wotcher Remus,” as she’d shaken his hand. She’d known what he was, but unlike most of society – indeed, even some members of the Order – she’d accepted him straight away, a most uncommon reaction.

But then, he’d quickly discovered that Don’t-Call-Me-Nymphadora Tonks was a most uncommon woman.

It wasn’t her youth, though that was certainly enough to make her stand out at Order meetings.

It wasn’t her clumsiness, although that had driven Molly Weasley to distraction, and had prompted certain members to start placing bets on how long into the meeting it would be until either the first breakage or until Molly showed signs of losing her cool.

It wasn’t the way she bounced about Order meetings, taking everything in her stride, her exuberance so far removed from the serious nature of the meetings, the serious nature of the other members. (Well, maybe not Dung.)

It wasn’t how she could change from exuberant youth to experienced Auror in the blink of an eye, how after only seconds of listening to her, he could see why she had been accepted as an Auror, how no-one since her has been accepted into the program – after all, how could anyone follow her?

It wasn’t her appearance, be that the clothes she wore or her ever-changing hair colour – though when he realised that he liked bubblegum pink best on her, that he was paying enough attention to her appearance to actually have a favourite, that should have been a clue that he was in trouble.

It wasn’t the way her eyes danced as she sat with him and Sirius in front of the fire, laughing over some old Hogwarts story, how her whole face was illuminated when she laughed.

It wasn’t how he caught her looking at him sometimes, when his attention was engaged elsewhere, and then he would turn around and meet those eyes, see those lips curving in a smile that was not the least bit embarrassed.

It was all of those things, and so many more.

Even when Sirius pointed it out to him – his exact words had been “Grab your cloak mate, you’ve pulled,” – he hadn’t acted on it. After all, Sirius must be mistaken. What would a woman like Tonks see in a man like him?

It had taken several more conversations with Sirius, along with some not so gentle prodding from Molly Weasley, to see the truth.

Despite the constraints of wartime, reason and common sense, he had fallen for Tonks.

And in blatant defiance of all those things, she may have, quite possibly, fallen for him too.

He’d attempted to talk to her about it, a few times, though finding time alone in Grimmauld Place was about as easy a job as being the Chudley Cannons goalkeeper. Eventually though, he’d managed it, had started off with light conversation, and there had been smiles and laughter and the two of them gradually drawing closer and closer together…

When suddenly a shining silver doe cantered into the room and the world went to hell around them.

Much of the rest of the evening is a blur to him – the Department of Mysteries, Death Eaters, curses and jinxes flying everywhere, cries and screams and mayhem…

He remembers, with vivid clarity, seeing Tonks duelling Bellatrix out of the corner of his eye, remembers hearing Bellatrix’s taunts turn suddenly into a cry of triumph. Tonks had fallen backwards, tumbled down the stairs as if she were no more than a rag doll. He remembers thinking, in that absurd way the mind works when one is under extreme duress, that true to form she’d managed to hit every step along the way down, that she would laugh about that when she got up.

But she didn’t get up, and there was no time to help her because curses were still flying and Dumbledore was there, and Sirius and Bellatrix were taunting one another as curses flew…

He remembers the spell that hit Sirius, saw him falling through the veil, and knowing, with instant, terrible clarity, that his best friend was gone where no-one could hurt him. Harry hadn’t known that, and his pain, his rage had sent him running after Bellatrix. Lupin had intended to go after him, but Dumbledore had stopped him, making after Harry himself, leaving Lupin to turn to the others, help them as best he could.

They were little more than children, fighting a war that was too big for them, and he’d taught them all in his year in Hogwarts. They should have been his priority.

But the first person he went to was Tonks.

His first clue that more than Sirius and Molly might have known of his feelings for Tonks were when Mad-Eye, with a word, stepped away from her, and before Remus could even ask the question, told him, “She’s alive… badly hurt, mind… nothing a spell in St Mungo’s won’t put right…”

Remus had barely heard him, because he couldn’t reconcile the Tonks he knew – so bright, so lively, so alive – with the pale, still creature lying there before him.

In an instant, it struck him how young she was. Little more than a child, fighting in a war that was too big for her.

He didn’t visit her in St Mungo’s. He told himself that there was too much to do at Grimmauld Place, that with Sirius gone, they needed to secure the premises, research the appropriate magical laws to do so. Besides, with the Ministry now admitting that Voldemort had returned, with Voldemort certainly preparing to operate more openly, even though he did want to see her, there simply wasn’t time.

Especially not when he was trying to ignore the voice in his head that sounded like Sirius after a little too much Firewhisky and talk about Tonks: “To Remus Lupin… and his amazing capacity for self-delusion!”

He didn’t see her until the day that Hogwarts was breaking up for the summer. It had been agreed that members of the Order would greet Harry at Kings Cross, perhaps (and this was Moody’s idea) put a little of the fear of Merlin into his Muggle relatives. Remus had been in the kitchen when he’d heard the door opening, and he knew, even without the soft greeting, that it was her.

“Wotcher Remus.”

She was dressed, as he was, for the Muggle world, in a pair of old patched jeans and a bright purple Weird Sisters t-shirt. Her hair was its most vivid, glorious, bubblegum pink, and her smile, while not as cheery as the one he was accustomed to seeing from her, was, as ever, a ray of light in the dreary gloom of Grimmauld Place.

Without conscious thought, conscious decision, he was in front of her, pulling her into his arms like he never wanted to let her go. He hadn’t realised, until she was standing in front of him again, just how concerned he’d been about her, just how much her injuries had affected him. She could have died, she very nearly did, and she would never have known…

He wanted to see her face, tried to pull back, but she was holding onto him fiercely, just as fiercely as he’d been holding onto her, and she was loathe to let go. Somewhat belatedly, he realised that she was trembling from head to foot, that he was too, and when she pulled back from him, it was hard to say whose breathing was more ragged.

His forehead resting against hers, he closed her eyes, wanting to kiss her, knowing that if he did, she wouldn’t push him away, knowing that if he did, it would not end at kissing, Kings Cross or no Kings Cross. If he kissed her, it would not just be a kiss, but a promise, a commitment, a line he’d never before crossed, had never wanted to cross.

He had never wanted anything more than to cross it then.

But should he? She was so young… so alive… was it fair to her to give into his desires, with all that he was, and more to the point, all that he wasn’t?

In that moment of fear, of hesitation, her lips were so close to his that he could feel her breath like it was his own, and maybe it was…

Then, from outside the door, came a familiar clunking step, and they just managed to spring apart before Mad-Eye burst in, muttering something about Muggles and public places and constant vigilance.

Just like that, the moment vanished.

When Moody wasn’t looking, Tonks caught his eye, gave him a slow smile and a wink, her meaning clear. There would be other moments, she seemed to be saying, other chances. He’d wanted to believe her, but he’d fought in a war before, knew how life had a habit of getting in the way of whatever plans, whatever desires, you might have.

And so it had.

Dumbledore had given him this mission, to live with the werewolves, and when he’d told her, he’d also told her not to wait for him, that no matter what they were feeling, he could never give her the life she deserved. They’d quarrelled bitterly from starlight to sunrise, and tears had streaked her cheeks, hurting him more than any hexes or jinxes ever could. He’d stood his ground though, convinced that this was what was best for her, and in the end he’d left without saying goodbye.

He regrets that now.

Night after night, he stares into the fire, and he thinks of her, of the nights spent by the fireside with her, times taken for granted, times that would never come again. He misses her, wonders where she is, what she’s doing, if she is all right.

He knows that this was all his choice, that he chose the path that was right, not easy. But that knowledge doesn’t help when he remembers the sound of her laughter, the colour of her hair, the feel of her arms around him.

And it certainly doesn’t help when every night, he’s haunted by that July morning, by his hesitation and fear, and the taste of the first kiss he was too scared to give her.

>*<*>*<

 _Me and Jenny Munroe, sneaking down by the river_  
I’m still haunted by the taste of that first kiss I was too scared to give her  
Oh Lord, Oh Lord, it doesn’t seem like it was all that long ago  
Oh Lord, Oh Lord, you can dream about it every now and then  
But you can’t go home again.

Flies on the Butter, Ronny Cox  
[Streaming Link](http://www.ronnycox.com/mp3/Live/You_Cant_Go_Home_Again.m3u)


End file.
